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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27496816">The Becoming</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltythumbtack/pseuds/saltythumbtack'>saltythumbtack</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Ending, M/M, alternate ending - s2 ep13, that's it that's the fic, will kills hannibal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:09:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,134</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27496816</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltythumbtack/pseuds/saltythumbtack</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The becoming came sooner than Hannibal expected.</p>
<p>In retrospect, it should’ve been obvious.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Becoming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Please read the tags, this is not strictly speaking happy or unhappy, but the entire fic is Hannibal's dying monologue.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The becoming came sooner than Hannibal expected.</p>
<p>In retrospect, it should’ve been obvious.</p>
<p>The way Will looked at him was the first indicator. Will was usually nervous - Bedelia would say twitchy - but there was a deathly calmness to him that night, a surety in the way he looked at Hannibal that should’ve raised alarms but instead set butterflies loose in Hannibal’s stomach.</p>
<p>That was how Will got him, of course. The butterflies, the uncertainty-no, the certainty. The certainty that Hannibal was right, that he’d played his cards properly, that he’d gotten Will right where he wanted him.</p>
<p>It should’ve worked.</p>
<p>Will had called him to warn him, just as Hannibal had called Garrett Jacob Hobbs. Hannibal revelled in the moment, rolling the words around his tongue. They tasted sweet. Victory always did.</p>
<p>But that taste soured, soon enough.</p>
<p>It soured when he felt Will’s lips on his own, tasted the other man’s betrayal. There was a firmness to the kiss, a finality that didn’t suit it. It was the first they’d shared, and yet it held the inevitability of the last kiss shared between two soon to be former lovers. It spoke of promises broken by time and misuse, of words shared and forgotten, of a certain resignation to mourn what could have been.</p>
<p>Hannibal was wrong.</p>
<p>The irony was not lost on him, made worse by the fact that it had been so long since Hannibal had tasted such a bitter defeat. Will had played him, had gotten Hannibal right where he wanted him, and Hannibal had walked straight into his trap, blinded by hope and his own feelings for will. The rose-tinted lense he’d seen Will through was not red with the blood of a killer; no, it was tinged with the pink of discounted Valentine’s decorations in March.</p>
<p>The knife wasn’t as sharp as Hannibal had thought it would be.</p>
<p>He idly frowned at that. He really needed to get Will something to sharpen his knives with. A dull blade could ruin a good piece of meat, just as the blood was now ruining one of Hannibal’s more favored suits. It removed all the delicacy and form and simply made things messier.</p>
<p>Bleeding out was never a fun way to go. It took far too long and yet was over much too quickly. The sensation was unfamiliar, unlike anything he’d felt before, but in a strange, almost poetic way, it was fitting. How many had died by his hands, in a much more graceful, detached way than he himself was now dying? How fitting that he should meet his end at the hands of someone he loved, someone who he had fought so hard to change, with the graceless indignity of a dull knife and the blood staining his carpet.</p>
<p>He was aware of the warmth bleeding out of him, of the coldness seeping into him and filling every inch of his body. He was aware of the stain spreading across his shirt and the growing pool that he lay in, the blood snaking around him, surrounding in a loving embrace. The pain was more irritating than anything else, a thorn in his side, a reminder that he hadn’t quite finished shaping Will. The knife should’ve been sharp; ready to find its home between Hannibal’s ribs at a moment’s notice, yet instead it was dull, inattentive, reeking of the desire to act and the inability to plan. This was not the knife of an experienced killer, but of a man who had not yet decided who he was. He was prepared to kill, yes, he had brought the knife and the intention, but he had not taken the care, the forethought to sharpen his blade. Perhaps the act of sharpening--the care, the attention required--would only serve to frighten Will. Perhaps he was afraid of talking himself out of this, and wanted to steel himself with the surety that only inattention can ensure. He was determined to do this, and he refused to be swayed.</p>
<p>The wound itself was a minor detail, a small pinprick of light at the end of a very long and very dark tunnel.</p>
<p>The light in Will’s eyes was much closer, much more interesting to watch.</p>
<p>Hannibal had seen killers before. They all reacted differently. The pupils dilated - some from fear, others from adrenaline, still more from excitement. Some smiled, others cried. It was an emotional thing, to kill another human being, and it always took a toll. Hands shook, from rage, pleasure, fear. Only the most experienced killers kept their hands steady, met their victims eyes without shame, without remorse, unflinching from the prospect of watching the life drain from someone’s eyes. It took a particular kind of individual to be unafraid of being haunted by someone’s last breath, to be able to stare, unblinking, as the body in their arms became lifeless. </p>
<p>Will Graham did not blink as he watched Hannibal die. </p>
<p>There was a cool detachment in his gaze, and for a brief moment, Hannibal wondered if this would haunt Will or set him free. It had been so long since Will had a peaceful night of rest, and much of that was Hannibal’s doing. Did Will fear him, even now? Did he fear the stag, the monster that he would surely become had he remained under Hannibal’s care any longer? Hannibal mourned the loss. Had he just a little more time with Will, he could’ve molded the man, taught him how to welcome the nightmares, open his arms to the demons and welcome them in, remove the antlers from his lungs and wear them proudly on his forehead.</p>
<p>Even as the life drained from him, Hannibal cringed at the blood soaking Will’s shoes. He had so few pairs, and blood was a pain to remove. It would surely be frowned upon if he went to work in bloody shoes. It was a sign of a clumsy killer, and Hannibal so desperately hated to be clumsy.</p>
<p>Will didn’t seem to care. He refused to take his eyes off of Hannibal, almost as though he was afraid that if he looked away, Hannibal would vanish, continue on living and breathing and killing, haunting Will’s every waking moment and tormenting his unconscious ones. </p>
<p>Will Graham did not cry as Hannibal Lector died. He did not mourn the man who had once been his friend, the man who could have been someone he truly loved. He did not cradle Hannibal’s body in his arms so much as he held it to make sure that all the life was gone from it. He did not check Hannibal’s pulse out of a desire to find one, but rather out of a desire to confirm its absence.</p>
<p>Will Graham was a killer.</p>
<p>Perhaps Hannibal was right after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! This is my first work for Hannibal, I hope you all enjoyed it! If you did, feel free to <a href="https://ko-fi.com/cordsnake">buy me a coffee!</a> I personally am a big fan of the idea of Will killing Hannibal, and I may expand upon this later in a longer fic if I feel up to it.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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